Holding Hands Read Online Free

gaze to her own plate,
regarding the eclectic array of food and realizing that swallowing
would be impossible when she had a lump of tears the size of a
tennis ball lodged in her throat. Silently, she nudged her plate
away, pushed back her chair and walked to the mudroom to fetch
Skippy’s leash. Unaware of the tension simmering between her and
Scott, Skippy bounded into the kitchen, panting in near
ecstasy.
    Without a word, she clipped the leash onto
his collar and left the house. She needed to walk. She needed to
weep. And she needed to get away from Scott.
     
     
     

Chapter
Three
     
    HE DIDN’T GET HOME until after five. She’d
worked only a half-day herself, come home, packed her bag—including
the frothy lace teddy she’d bought to wear that night—and delivered
Skippy, his leash, his food and water bowls and a ten-pound bag of
kibble to her neighbor across the street. Then she’d paced, Googled
the directions to Cindy’s inn in West Dennis and paced some more,
waiting for Scott and wondering whether this excursion would save
her marriage.
    At least he’d agreed to make the trip with
her. Begrudgingly, resentfully, but she would not be going alone.
“I’m bringing my laptop with me,” he’d warned. “I really don’t have
time for this stupid trip. I’ve got too much work to do.”
    Fine. He could work all day if he wanted. At
night, she’d don the teddy. Maybe he would finally notice that
there was thirty-four pounds less of her than there had been two
years ago. Maybe he’d take one look at her in that skimpy little
garment and forget about all the work he had to do. Maybe he’d
remember why he’d fallen in love with her.
    Maybe she’d remember why she’d fallen in love
with him, too. Because ever since he’d reacted so negatively to
this surprise trip, she’d been questioning whether her marriage was
truly worth saving.
    She felt a frisson of something—excitement?
anxiety? dread?—when she heard the rumble of his motorized garage
door opening, signaling his arrival home. He shouted a quick hello
as he sprinted through the kitchen, heading for the stairs. “Gotta
pack,” he shouted over his shoulder.
    Excitement, she decided. Late as he was, he
was willing to rush through whatever he had to do to speed their
departure. She followed him upstairs and watched as he tossed a
pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a sweatshirt and sneakers into his
overnight bag, added his toiletries and zipped the bag shut.
Fortunately, he could dress casually for work. She didn’t have to
wait for him to change from a suit into more comfortable clothes.
His khakis, oxford shirt and mocs were fine for traveling. “We’re
eating dinner when we get there, right?” he asked as they hurried
down the stairs.
    “ The drive shouldn’t take
more than an hour and a half,” she estimated. “There isn’t going to
be much beach traffic this time of year. But if you want to bring
along a snack—”
    “ Nah.” He grabbed his
lap-top bag from the kitchen table, where he’d tossed it before
racing upstairs. “You’ll have to drive. I want to get a little work
done on the way.”
    “ No problem.” Bags stashed
in the trunk, they settled into her car and she backed out of the
garage, feeling hopeful about this trip for the first time since
she’d suggested it.
    Her hope sprang a tiny leak when the first
fat raindrops struck the windshield about a half hour into the
drive. Scott hadn’t spoken much during that first half hour; other
than blaming a tedious department meeting that afternoon for
delaying him. “If you miss a department meeting, you wind up
getting named to a committee or volunteered for some other
obligation. No way could I skip it,” he said. “When it was finally
over, I returned to my office to lock up and there was a student
waiting for me there. She needed to discuss her midterm
project.”
    Caitlin? Meredith wondered, though she didn’t dare to ask. To mention
Caitlin’s name would be to admit